The Whip
by Tulip Proudfoot
Summary: Legolas recounts a moment in Minas Tirith after the crowning of the King. Concerns the four hobbits, Legolas, Gimli, and a few citizens of Gondor. This could have been in "Reflections from the Elf," but it was too long.
1. The Commission

Chapter: 1

Title: The Commission

The day we reentered Minas Tirith after Aragorn was acclaimed King was the day the Fellowship set up camp in one of the abandoned houses. It was a large building on the sixth level, with many private rooms facing East and slightly North, affronting spectacular views of the plains below. We could have each had our own room, but naturally gravitated to reestablish sleeping arrangements much the way we did while on the journey. Gandalf had his own room with its own exterior door, since he was constantly going in and out on various missions. Gimli and I shared a room. And the four hobbits occupied two adjoining rooms nearest to the kitchen. One would assume that Frodo and Sam would share a room, while Merry and Pippin occupied another, but that was not exactly the case. It started out that way, but Merry, Pippin and Sam ended up sharing one bedroom, giving Frodo his own room, though Sam often slept at his master's side. The hobbits were especially careful to give the Ringbearer the privacy and seclusion he desired and needed.

The Fellowship was in various stages of recovery during that time. Gimli, Gandalf and I fared best through all the fighting, having suffered no serious injuries. Aragorn required a few stitches along one forearm, but otherwise escaped unhurt. The four hobbits, on the other hand, suffered near-fatal injuries which required rest.

Master Meriodoc was only lately released from the Houses of Healing when we set up residences on the sixth level. His sword arm was tender and painful to use for many weeks. His pride kept him from using the sling very often. Pippin also was recuperating, having sustained a severe shoulder dislocation and a broken ankle from being crushed by a troll which the hobbit managed to kill single-handedly. Being the youngest of the Fellowship, he rebounded quickly and was off crutches before we reentered the White City. But he walked with a slight limp for the rest of his life.

Samwise and Frodo were still weak from their long ordeal without food and water in Mordor. Frodo's missing finger developed a fester which eventually required him to have the stump further amputated and cauterized. Sam was the one who persuaded him to seek a doctor at the Houses of Healing. Samwise, himself, did not escape injury. He bears an ugly scar upon his forehead from where the creature Gollum attacked him while at the Cracks of Doom. They are brave folk, these hobbits. Often it is the innocent who are hurt the most by war, and such was the case with our Fellowship. Ye they bore it bravely and without complaint.

Samwise occupied his time in Minas Tirith with undertaking to "fatten up" Frodo. The steadfast gardener roamed the city markets and made friends with the city's food suppliers in an attempt to rekindle Frodo's diminished desire for eating. Our shared house became well-known on the sixth level for the fabulous smells emanating from the kitchen. Frequently, Aragorn himself would quit the King's Level to eat Sam's home-cooked meals.

It was during one of these meals around the kitchen table that Merry broached the subject.

"Aragorn?" Merry asked as he skewered a slice of lamb roast with his knife, "What can we do to be of use now that the fighting's all over? "

"Yes," Pippin spoke up between bites. "I am tired of sitting around all day doing nothing but polishing my sword or stoking the fire for Sam. Surely there is something we can do to help."

"The lad's right, you know," Gimli said. "If you leave those two alone with nothing to do, they'll soon be fast into mischief. Best if you give 'em something official and somewhat constructive to do."

"The same could be said for you, my friend," I teased Gimli.

"I am already quite busy, as you know," the dwarf huffed back. "This city needs rebuilding, and dwarves are naturally gifted in matters of stone and rock."

"We could help," Pippin said.

"Pip, you know as much about stonework as I know about ship-building," Merry laughed.

"I might not be a stone mason, but I can at least help remove debris," Pippin retorted.

"Aragorn? Have you any idea as to exactly what needs to be done throughout the levels of the city?" Gandalf asked. "Which buildings need repair? Which gates are salvageable? Is there a repair plan for the city?"

"Other than the main gate on the first level needing to be replaced, I do not have any information about the city's needs," Aragorn replied. "I have my hands full right now dealing with the Southrons and slave labor still entrenched inside Mordor. But this survey of the city does sound like a task uniquely suited for the six of you."

"We will need maps," Gimli said.

"I will send someone down from the library tomorrow," Aragorn said. "Take a walk through the levels and note down what needs to be done. I give all of you authority to coordinate the cleansing and rebuilding of the city. But as much as I desire to visit with all of you, I only have time for one to report back to me. Please elect a representative from amongst yourselves." He politely belched, grabbed his sword and headed out the door. "I shall see one of you in two days, after my meetings with the Captains of the Southrons is over." He disappeared down the street.

"I think Mr. Frodo should be the leader," Sam said as he cleared the table. "That way he can stay here and let us do all the leg work."

"I will have no such thing," Frodo hopped down from a chair. "The doctors say it will do me good to get out and walk the city a bit, and that's exactly what I plan to do."

"But Sam's still right about you being the reporter," Merry said. "You are far better than any of us at listening and reading and writing down things in their proper order. You've a gift for writing, you know."

"That's right, Mer," Pippin said. "Cousin Frodo for the scribe's job."

"Makes sense to me," Gimli added. I nodded my agreement.


	2. The Whip

Chapter 2

Title: The Whip

The Stewart had sent down beautifully detailed maps of the entire city, including four copies of the first level. He promised to send down four copies of the next level each day, as the scribes in the library finished them. In turn, Frodo was to consolidate our reports and send them back to Faramir, who had daily meetings with the King. Faramir was coordinating the actual rebuilding of the city, including assigning of troops to help civilians.

Our surveying started on the most-damaged level: the first. We meet at the destroyed main gate about an hour after lunch and split into three groups: Frodo and Sam taking the Southward side street; Merry and Pippin the Northward street; Gimli and I the twisting side streets leading into the heart of the mountain. Each group had their map of the first level, charcoal, a small notebook, and a signed letter of authorization from the Stewart.

Merry and Pippin elected to wear their formal armor, as Pippin thought the uniforms would lend an air of authority to their task. Sam rolled his eyes at the two. "We're never going to hear the end of argument as to whose uniform is prettiest."

"Most beautiful," Frodo corrected him.

"Everyone knows I'm prettiest," Pippin smugly assured everyone as they left the group.

"Are not." I could hear Merry's retort as they turned a corner. "Black is so plain. Look at the wonderful detailed leatherwork on this…"

It took time to write down everything which needed tending. I took notes while Gimli surveyed. I thought I would be the one who could best see the needs of the city, but Gimli proved early on that dwarves, in deed, do have a natural affinity for this sort of work: not only stonework, but the inner workings of a city carved into the face of a mountain. We detailed debris to be removed, holes filled in, structures to be reinforced or rebuilt, infrastructure problems (such as destroyed or damaged water storage tanks, water distribution lines, sewer lines), what debris could be salvaged, what was beyond repair and must be torn down, what type of labor and skills would be needed for each job. The list was extensive and I was glad to have a dwarf to do the inspection. Faramir and Aragorn would get as detailed a list as they could ever want.

Citizens of the city are already at work removing war debris. Many horses, carts and wheelbarrows were moving through streets slick with manure and mud on the normally pristine white cobblestones. There were a few Gondorian soldiers directing the labor; some Rohan cavalry housed in the lower level stables; and citizens who lived and worked on the first level who were trying to salvage what they could find. Considering the lack of coordination, chaos was not present. However, there was a lot of noise and smell. As Gimli and I wound our way through the twisting labyrinth I could glimpse and smell thick, black smoke. At one point I could see through a breach in the outer defense wall and into Pellanor field. Past the ruined gate a large bonfire was burning another rotting Oliphant carcass. Disgusting, but necessary.

We were to all meet at the central plaza after completing our surveys. Gimli and I were heading down a particularly narrow, crooked street when we saw Frodo and Sam walking down theirs. The sight of two hobbits slowly pacing the street, pausing to discuss a problem, and then scribbling into a workbook caused the Gondorian workers to stop and stare. I could hear some whispering to each other, recognizing the two as the fabled halflings of the King. A few even bowed to the hobbits as they passed. Frodo seemed genuinely embarrassed by the attention, but I could see that Sam was quietly relishing it, smiling back and engaging a few people in conversation while Frodo scribbled. Gimli and I also caused a similar reaction in the population, as most had never seen a dwarf or an elf before.

Frodo and Sam were coming to the last house on their street; one which had sustained tremendous damage from battering rams and trolls' hammer blows. The front of the building had been smashed, with large stone blocks and splintered wooden beams clogging part of the street. A man with a piteous dappled grey mare and small wooden cart had overloaded it with heavy stone for hauling off. He was trying to get the bony horse to start the heavy cart, pulling on her bridle and yelling obscenities at the beast. She could not manage it, slipping on the muck and straining against the harness.

A woman leaned out of an upper window of the house next door, dust pan in hand. "Jandolin!" she yelled, "can't you do nothin' right? You were supposed to be here yesterday. There's twice as much rubbish to move now. You're holding us all up."

"Shut up, Neva," he snapped back without looking up. "I been working from daybreak to nightfall without so much as a thank you. An' this ole nag is all I can get since mine was taken for the army." He yanked on the horse's reigns again. "Come on, you! Gee up! Move it!" The horse strained again, but still could not manage the heavy weight of the cart.

Frodo and Sam stood there next to the cart, making notes about the structure. They were unnoticed until the man abruptly let go of the reigns and walked around to the driver's seat. He scowled at the two diminutive hobbits and their papers. "Get out of my way, pip squeaks," he growled at them. "If yer lost, go ask one of yer playmates in the barn where Mommie is."

As Gimli and I crossed the square, I could see Sam's face darken at the insult. But the hobbits stepped back to let the man pass. The man grabbed a whip from beside the seat.

"Gee on, you old nag!" he cried out as the whip lashed across the poor horse's withers. She jumped, startled at the pain, and again attempted to move the cart. "Gee on, ya worthless pile of bones!"

I could see his right arm pulling back for another lashing, only to find the whip had been quickly yanked from his hands. "What?"

Frodo stood next to him, wearing a dark expression on his normally-placid face and holding the whip in his right hand. "I cannot allow you to continue this," he calmly said. But his blue eyes narrowed into a frightful warning.

"Who is that? Oh, my stars! It's one of the perrianath," the woman named Neva exclaimed, disappearing back inside the building. All work in the square had stopped, and all attention was focused upon the conflict developing between the hobbits and the man named Jandolin.

"A whip is only used to administer pain and fear. It has no place in the City of Light," Frodo continued, keeping eye contact with the man.

"Ya little pile of dung!" Jandolin spat, squinting his eyes in disgust. "You've no right interfering with a real Man's work. Give me my property back now, or I'll learn you a thing or two about a proper whipping." He stepped towards the Ringbearer but something caught his eye.

Merry and Pippin appeared from behind the cart, the sun shining on their highly-polished swords. The bright sunlight reflected from the silver and brass inlays on their Citadel Guard and Rohan armor as they moved beside Frodo and Sam. Jandolin hesitated. Frodo lowered the whip as Gimli and I joined the group behind the four hobbits.

"He has the authority of the King and Stewart over all work in the city," I quietly explained.

"As well as the moral obligation to stop cruelty in any form," Sam continued.

"And I have more intimate knowledge about the sting of a whip than you could ever imagine," Frodo frowned. "No good has ever resulted from the use of a whip, and I will not tolerate its use here or anywhere else in this city."

"Seems to me the solution lies in not asking the horse to do more than she's capable," Gimli matter-of-factly said. "You've overloaded the cart."

"You there! Private!" Pippin shouted and gestured to a tall dark-haired Gondorian soldier looking on. "Come help us unload this cart." The young man hurried through the crowd and gave Pippin a brief, formal salute, then began to remove stone from the cart.

"Riddermark Rider!" Merry called out to a blonde bearded man standing at a nearby stable doorway. "Help us tend to the horse." The Rider nodded a brief bow, went into the stable and returned with a bucket of water. A stable boy followed, bringing a half-full feed bag.

I watched as the woman from next door put aside her broom and began to help unload the cart. Another Gondorian appeared with a wheelbarrow. Jandolin was pushed aside as the crowd silently worked to lighten the cart's load. After a few minutes, the man's wheelbarrow was filled and removed, the horse's needs tended to, and the crowd dispersed.

Jandolin stood beside the cart, quite unsure as what had just happened and what to do next. I walked to the elderly mare's head and whispered some words of encouragement to her. As I took her lead, she gave a great heave. The lightened cart began to roll. We stopped and waited.

Jandolin began to climb into the driver's seat when he was stopped by the whip being poked into his chest.

"You walk while the mare works," Frodo sternly commanded. "You may only ride in an empty cart." Frodo broke the whip over his knee and handed it back to the man. "Make sure everyone knows about this. If I see another whip being used within the walls of this city, you will be held responsible to the King. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, uh, sir," Jandolin replied, and briefly bowed before leading the mare on to the paths leading outside the gate towards the rubbish pile.

Merry and Pippin re-sheathed their swords. Frodo closed his eyes and passed his bandaged left hand over his face. "Take me back, Sam," he whispered. "The Darkness remains and I fear Cirith Ungol will haunt my dreams tonight."

The four hobbits headed up the silent streets. Merry was holding his arm in a stiff, unnatural manner after having to use it to hold the sword. He assisted Pippin as the youngest hobbit limped slightly over the cobblestones.

I am an expert in weapons and arms. Yet to this day I will not touch a whip.


End file.
